


to the victor goes the spoils

by phoenixsigns



Series: Winner's Choice [1]
Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, But everything in this fic is fully consensual, Frottage, Group Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Premise is kind of dubcon, Rimming, Winner's Choice AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 01:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18325949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixsigns/pseuds/phoenixsigns
Summary: "Winner takes all" applies outside the game, too.(aka Nemesis is chosen to have sex with G2 after their first game against each other)





	to the victor goes the spoils

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was started after Fnatic vs G2 in Week 4...months later, it's finally finished.
> 
> I got the idea for this AU while watching LEC and it couldn't get it out of my head. This fic was a monster to write but I still want to write more fics set in this universe.

As Fnatic’s nexus explodes and the victory screen pops up on their monitors, the members of G2 whoop with excitement.  Rasmus stands up, flush with the euphoria of beating his former team, and Marcin immediately sweeps him into a hug.

 

Rasmus can’t stop smiling.

 

His smile dims a little as he walks over to Fnatic to shake their hands. He’s glad he won, of course, but seeing Gabriël, Mads, Martin, and Zdravets looking so disappointed makes his heart twinge a little. Tim’s face is blank as Rasmus approaches him to shake his hand. His lips are red, probably from worrying them with his teeth, and Rasmus finds himself glancing at them a little too long before he moves on to hug Martin...no, Rekkles.

 

Rekkles hesitates for the slightest of moments before hugging back. Rasmus is grateful he hugged him back at all.

 

As soon as they all pile backstage, Luka is all over him, sliding his hands under Rasmus’ shirt to touch at his waist, his chest. Pressed against him, Rasmus can practically feel him vibrating  with excitement. Luka always gets horny after a win, but this time he seems extra keyed up.

 

“Did you see the way I spanked Rekkles in lane?” Luka brags, cocky as ever. “I finally fucking beat the guy. First time in two years, baby!”

 

“Does this mean you wanna pick him for winner’s choice?” Martin ask with a smirk. “I’m sure he’ll bend over for you as eagerly as he did in lane.”

 

Rasmus freezes. Taking Rekkles as the winner’s choice?

 

Rekkles had always been eager to participate in the...well, ritual was probably too fancy of a word to describe what happened after every game during the regular season. Rumoured to have been started by xPeke several years ago, it was by now an ironclad yet unspoken rule of the EU LCS, and now the LEC. The winning team got to pick a member of the losing team to do whatever they wanted with, within reason. Perhaps unsurprisingly for a league filled with horny young adults, “whatever they wanted” usually involved sex.

 

2017 and 2018 had made Rasmus very familiar with the tradition of winner’s choice, usually from the victor’s side. As team captain, Rekkles was usually given the honour of picking the member of the other team Fnatic would be spending the next hour or so with, while the question of exactly what the team would do that remained open to discussion. Usually each team had at least one player who was considered a “regular,” someone who was used to the winner’s choice process and either didn’t mind or was into being chosen. Winning teams usually chose the regular of the team they beat, and with Rekkles, Fnatic was no different.

 

G2 was a bit different. in typical disregard for convention, G2 chose the winner’s choice based on all of its players’ whims and desires, with conflicting picks decided on by whoever had won player of the game. Rasmus had been shocked when, after G2’s victory against Origen, Marcin had overruled Luka’s choice of Alfonso (who was also Origen’s regular) in favour of Jonas.

 

This time, Marcin had again been chosen as player of the game, so he had the final say. Instead of voicing his own preference right away, this time he turned to Rasmus. “Well, what do you say? Wanna see Rekkles on his knees for you?”

 

Rasmus feels himself flush. Rekkles on his knees...

 

“Of course he does!” Luka tightens his grip on Rasmus’ waist, restless fingers playing with Rasmus’ belt. “The great Martin “Rekkles” Larsson, choking on our cocks, taking it up the ass...Who wouldn’t want to see that?” His eyes get a little unfocused and dreamy just talking about it, and Rasmus can feel something hard start to poke against his thigh.

 

“You’re not Rasmus, are you?” Marcin asks drily. “Let him talk, you horny little shit.”

 

Everyone glances at Rasmus expectantly.

 

Rasmus isn’t sure what to say. On one hand, Rekkles was…Rekkles. Rasmus had crushed on and idolized him for so long, and Rekkles had always been very affectionate with him. However, despite his reputation as someone who was eternally thirsty, and Rasmus seeing this in action after every game they’d won (memories which he sometimes still jerked off to), Rekkles had never made a romantic or sexual move on Rasmus. With this, with winner’s choice, Rasmus would finally have his chance to be with him.

 

Something about this just doesn’t feel right.

 

Tim’s cherry-red lips flash across Rasmus mind.

 

“Can we pick Nemesis instead?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Marcin, Martin, and Mihael all looked surprised. Luka immediately lets out a loud whoop and squeezes Rasmus even harder.

 

“Awww, has our mid laner finally moved on to someone else?” he coos, making an exaggerated kissy face. “Or are you just really attracted to other mid laners? I understand, I mean, we’re all really hot and fuckable-”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Marcin says, covering Luka’s mouth with both his hands. Luka lets out a muffled yelp of indignation and licks Marcin’s hand, causing him to remove his hands quickly.

 

“Why are you so gross?” Marcin grumbles, wiping his hands on his jersey. Mihael snickers.

 

“Why are you such a dick?” Luka chirps back, sliding his hands out of Rasmus’ shirt and slinging an arm around Marcin’s shoulder. “Are you seriously going to go with Nemesis, though? After I spent all my time arguing for Rekkles? Don’t deny it, Marcin, you wanna fuck him too.”

 

“It’s Rasmus’ old team, so I’m letting him pick,” Marcin replies, plucking Luka’s groping hand off his chest. “And if he wants Nemesis, we’ll take Nemesis.”

 

Rasmus’ heart is pounding a mile a minute, but he manages to give Marcin a grateful nod.

 

Luka grumbles for a bit longer, but eventually gives in and agrees to take Nemesis as their winner’s choice.

 

As G2 walks over to Fnatic’s dressing room to announce who they’ve chosen, Mihael sidles up to Rasmus. “So, why Nemesis? I thought you’d want to pick a member of your old team. For revenge or to resolve your sexual tension with one of them or something.”

 

“Don’t have any tension to resolve with any of them, I guess,” Rasmus lies. “And I already got my revenge on them on the Rift.

 

“Alright…” Mihael says, but he still seems a bit dubious. “Still, why Nemesis in particular? He your type or something?”

 

Rasmus’ face suddenly feels a lot warmer. “I don’t know why I chose him,” he admits. “He was just the first one to come to mind, really.”

 

“Oh?” Mihael raises an eyebrow. “That’s cute. Thinking of the guy that replaced you on your team...” He smiles softly at the thought. Rasmus wonders if he’ll choose Gorilla after they beat Misfits.

 

“We’re here, motherfuckers,” Marcin announces as he pushes the door to Fnatic’s dressing room open, followed closely by Luka, Martin, Mihael, and Rasmus. “The collective has decided, and we want Nemesis for winner’s choice.”

 

No one on Fnatic is in the room except for Tim and Mads. Rasmus isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that Rekkles isn’t there to find out who G2 chose.

 

Tim and Mads are standing in front of one of the stalls, both fully dressed. Tim had been talking quietly to Mads before G2 entered the room, but he shuts his mouth once Marcin announces their choice. His eyes are wide and innocent-looking, taking on a sheen of some unnameable emotion when Marcin says his name. Rasmus glances at his lips again. They’re even redder than they were before.

 

Mads immediately wraps a possessive arm around Tim’s skinny shoulders. “He’s not Fnatic’s regular,” he says coldly, looking straight at Rasmus as if he knew who wanted him. “That would be Martin. Or me.”

 

“Good thing we don’t care about regulars,” Marcin says dismissively. “Come on, Broxah, you should know how this works by now. Hand over the boy.”

 

Mads’ face tightens stubbornly. With a sinking feeling, Rasmus knows he won’t give in so easily. “No. Tim is still new to all this. Let someone who knows what he’s getting into go with you guys.”

 

“Oh, come on!” Luka snaps. “Nemesis has been with you guys for weeks now. He should know exactly what he’s getting into by now!”

 

Mads’ frown deepens and he opens his mouth to argue with Luka, but Tim stops him. “Perkz is right,” he says quietly, before turning to Luka. “I’ll go with you guys.”

 

“Tim, are you sure?” Mads asks, worried. Rasmus has heard that tone of voice a thousand times, usually when he was about to do something utterly stupid and risky. Tim nods.

 

“Don’t worry about me, Mads,” he says, pulling Mads into a brief hug. “I’ll be fine, promise.”

 

“We’ll treat your boy right,” Martin drawls. “C’mon, let’s go back to our locker room before we get kicked out by the janitors.”

 

Tim stands up and follows them, leaving Mads behind.

 

On the way back, Luka tries to flirt with him in his usual unsubtle way, but Tim just blushes and doesn’t respond to him. Rasmus wonders if he doesn’t want to do this, and whether picking Tim had been a mistake. But Tim had been the one to agree to go with them despite Mads’ objections…

 

Once they reach G2’s locker room, Martin silently opens the door. “Welcome to our place,” he says, turning to face Tim. “Make yourself comfortable, kid.”

 

Tim hesitates for a moment before stepping into the room. There’s a cushion lying in the middle of the room, placed there by Mihael before they’d left. “What’s that for?” he asks.

 

“Protect your knees while you suck us off,” Luka says with a grin. Tim’s pale face flushes pink and his eyes widen slightly.

 

“Oh…”

 

“You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” Marcin asks, giving Tim a piercing look.

 

“No, I do!” Tim protests. “It’s just that Fnatic doesn’t have, uh, accessories like this.”

 

“See, we do treat our spoils of war better than Fnatic does,” Luka says smugly. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring you back to your team in one piece. Now please...take off your clothes and kneel.”

 

Slowly, Tim sinks to his knees, lower legs supported by the cushion. He looks down for a moment, only to quickly look back up and give them all a small smile. “Alright, who’s first?”

 

“Ohhhh, an eager one, aren’t you?” Luka says, delighted. “Well, here we let the MVP decide the order we go in, so...Marcin?”

 

“Martin can go first, then me, then Mihael and Luka. Rasmus goes last,” Marcin says.

 

Luka pouts. “Of course you make me wait…’ he grumbles. Marcin just smirks at him. Rasmus isn’t sure how he feels about going last, but he isn’t go to protest. It won’t change anything, anyway. Marcin is incredibly stubborn.

 

As the rest of G2 stand around Tim to watch, Martin walks over to Tim and unzips his jeans, pulling out his sizeable erection. “Mind the teeth,” he says as he taps the tip of his cock against Tim’s lips.

 

Tim nods before taking Martin into his mouth. He suckles hesitantly on Martin’s tip, eyes wide like he’s overwhelmed, before suddenly pulling off.

 

“What the-” is all Martin can manage before Tim takes him back into his mouth, going down until he’s deepthroating Martin’s cock all the way.

 

Martin lets out a surprised moan.

 

Mihael’s breath catches at the sight. Next to him, Marcin mutters a soft “No fucking way…” Luka’s jaw is practically on the floor.

 

Rasmus watches, almost hypnotized as Tim’s slim throat bobs and shifts as he swallows around Martin over and over again. Tears of exertion are starting to collect at the corner of his eyes, but he shows no sign of stopping, or even coming back up to take a breath. For his part, Martin seems helpless to do anything but bury a hand in Tim’s soft brown locks, gazing down at him in wonder.

 

Luka has already removed his pants and has started jerking off, not caring if it’s not his turn yet. Tim shifts his gaze to the AD Carry and makes a beckoning motion with one of his hands. Luka immediately goes over to him, and Tim takes his erection into his hand, stroking him with his deft, slender fingers as he bobs his head over Martin’s cock. In response, Luka lets out a string of soft curses and words of encouragements.

 

“That’s Luka, always cutting the line,” Mihael says fondly, but his voice is a little shaky. Rasmus manages to tear his gaze away from Tim long enough to notice the tent in Mihael’s sweatpants, and that his hand is slowly inching towards it.

 

“You can always join me, _dragi_ ,” Luka says in between moans. “He’s got two hands, after all.”

 

Willpower immediately depleted, Mihael goes to the other side of Tim. With his free hand, Tim quickly pushes Mihael’s waistband down enough to pull his erection out of his boxers. He strokes both his and Luka’s cocks in time to the movements of his head and neck. The sight is breathtaking.

 

“You impatient motherfuckers,” Marcin mutters. With a start, Rasmus is suddenly reminded of his presence. Martin is bright red, and he’s palming himself through the denim of his jeans as he looks over at Tim, Martin, Luka, and Mihael, but his brows are furrowed.

 

Luka sticks his tongue out at Marcin. “You’re just jealous we got to him first,” he taunts. “You and Rasmus both.”

 

“No, I’m frustrated because I realized that two of my teammates have no self-control,” Marcin retorts. “At least Rasmus knows how to wait his turn like a normal person.”

 

“None of this is normal,” Mihael points out, shuddering as Tim runs his thumb over a prominent vein on his cock. “Unless you think everyone gets blowjobs from their opponents after a game.”

 

“Oh shut up, you guys.” Martin snaps. “Can’t you just learn to stay quiet and enjoy what you’ve got every once in a while?”

 

At that, Tim stops his movements and pulls off of Martin with a wet popping sound. His face is flushed dark red, his lips are swollen and an even darker shade of red, and sweat is dripping down his face as he heaves for breath. Strings of spit connect his mouth to Martin’s cock. He looks absolutely wrecked already, but his lips are turned upward in what is unmistakably a smile.

 

“Please, don’t argue over me,” he says, voice hoarse and weak but just loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. “I just want to please you all. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

 

“Of course, babe,” Luka replies immediately, caressing Tim’s face gently. He’s smitten, which he always is with any pretty boy who’s willing to have sex with him, Rasmus thinks wryly. “And you’re doing a great job so far.”

 

Marcin rolls his eyes.

 

“Thank you, Perkz,” Tim’s eyelashes flutter as he looks up at Luka, blinking away the tears that have collected in the corners of his eyes. Luka practically melts.

 

“Heyy, Martin, you almost done with him yet? I wanna have my turn with his mouth too,’ he whines, making gimme hands at the top laner. Martin huffs.

 

“I’m not getting any closer hearing your annoying voice. Or you distracting Nemesis enough to make him stop sucking me off.” Martin gently presses on the back of Tim’s head, nudging him back down. Tim nods, a knowing gleam in his eyes, and takes Martin back in his mouth. This time he doesn’t deepthroat Martin, but lets his head bob up and down quickly along his shaft. Martin lets out a pinched groan and tips his head back.

 

“Shit…”

 

Rasmus watches as Martin’s chest rises and falls faster and faster as Tim works him like he was born to suck cock. Eventually, he taps Tim on the shoulder. “I’m close…”

 

Tim nods and gives Martin’s shaft one last lick before pulling off and aiming his tip at his face. Soon enough, white ropes of come are painting his face. Rasmus admires the way a pearly dot of come hangs onto the edge of Tim’s ruby-red lips. He wishes he was bold enough to walk over and lick it off of Tim’s face.

 

Martin pulls away with a satisfied grunt, tucking himself back into his pants as he leans against the lockers. Luka tries to turn Tim to face him, only for Marcin to grab his arm.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Luka,” he grits out, standing between his ADC and Tim. “I’m next.”

 

“He said not to fight over him,” Luka whinges, but lets Marcin take his place in front of Tim anyway. Mihael immediately pulls him into his arms, pressing kisses down his neck. “Don’t worry, Marcin will be done soon enough,” he says. “He always comes quickest after you’ve wound him up.”

 

Luka snickers. “That was the plan, yes, but you didn’t have to say it out loud.”

 

Marcin seems to have tuned them out, as his focus is entirely on Tim. Rasmus’ attention is soon directed away from Luka and Mihael as well, and he watches with rapt attention as Tim takes Marcin into his mouth. Marcin is a little bigger than Martin so Tim struggles to deepthroat him as smoothly as he had with Martin, but eventually he makes it all the way down, chest heaving.

 

“Good boy,” Marcin whispers, pressing a thumb against the corner of Tim’s mouth. Tim makes a tiny noise in response, sending vibrations around Marcin’s cock that cause him to shudder.

 

“Ah, fuck!” Luka moans next to Rasmus’ ear, causing him to jump. When he turns to look, Mihael has both his and Luka’s cocks in his hands, erections sliding against each other as he pumps them together. His eyes are closed, and his heart-shaped lips are parted slightly.

 

All this debauchery around him makes Rasmus acutely aware of his own erection, which is urgently pushing up against his slacks. He wants to touch himself so badly, but something in his gut tells him to wait a little longer.

 

When he turns back to Marcin and Tim, Marcin is thrusting desperately into Tim’s mouth, tightly gripping his short brown locks as a stream of Polish swears comes out of his mouth.

 

“ _Kurwa, usta czuje się tak dobrze_...” [“Fuck, your mouth feels so good…”]

 

Tim looks up at Marcin, a bit of cum still gleaming in his eyelashes as he swallows around him once, twice, and Marcin is gone, hips jerking as he spills down Tim’s throat. Tim swallows everything eagerly, wiping his mouth with a pleased expression as Marcin stumbles back with a dazed expression.

 

“Your turn, Miky,” Martin says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

 

When Mihael doesn’t respond right away, too busy necking with Luka, a much more lucid Marcin punches his arm.

 

“Hey! You wanted a turn with Nemesis, right? He’s free now, hurry up before Rasmus here explodes,” he says, nodding at Rasmus. Rasmus blushes.

 

Mihael’s face lights up and he immediately lets go of Luka, who lets out a yelp and reaches out for him. When he gets no response from Mihael, who’s already gone to take his turn with Tim, Luka immediately latches onto Rasmus.

 

“Want me to distract you before your turn?” he simpers, biting his kiss-swollen lips at Rasmus seductively.

 

Rasmus considers his offer before shaking his head.

 

“Whaaaat? Why not, am I not good enough for you anymore?” Luka leans forward, exhaling against Rasmus’ neck and making him shiver. “Come on, I know you like it when I touch you just right-”

 

Marcin yanks him away. “Stop bugging Rasmus and wait for your turn with Nemesis, you brat.”

 

Rasmus gives him a grateful look. Luka looks disappointed for a split second before attaching himself to Marcin instead. “I bet you’re just jealous, aren’t you? Think you can still get it up for me, Marcin?”

 

“You attention starved idiot,” Marcin says exasperatedly, but he doesn’t stop Luka from touching him. Martin snickers in the background.

 

When Rasmus turns back to Mihael and Tim, Mihael is on his hands and knees as Tim rims him from behind. Mihael’s face is something to behold, his mouth forming an O of surprised pleasure, his eyelids hooded and fluttering with every lick and smack of Tim’s lips, and his cheeks flushed. “Ah…” he murmurs, voice thickened with pleasure, “Gonna come soon…”

 

Tim pulls back for a moment, cherry red lips swollen and shiny with saliva. His eyes are hazy as he licks his lips before diving back in with greater gusto than before. Mihael shudders and moans as he reaches down to touch his straining erection. “Fuck…”

 

“Come for us, Miky,” Martin says in that commanding tone that he likes to put on during sex, and Mihael is spilling into his hand and all over his chest with a groan.

 

 

As soon as Mihael comes, Luka breaks away from an irate-looking Marcin and rushes over to Tim. “Aw, you ate him out, huh,” he murmurs, cupping Tim’s cheek. Tim nods dazedly, the corner of his spit-covered mouth turned up into a small smirk.

 

“Guess I’ll just fuck you, then. As long as you’re okay with that, of course.” Luka glances at Tim for approval, and Tim nods, head lolling a bit as he does. He’s starting to look tired, and Rasmus briefly worries if he’s going to fall asleep before he gets his turn.

 

Luka prepares Tim quickly but thoroughly. “Ready?” he asks eventually, and Tim nods. “Good.” As Luka pushes in, Tim’s head tips back and he lets out a soft moan. It’s the first time Rasmus has heard Tim make such a noise, and it goes straight to his erection.  
  
“Hey,” someone says next to his ear, making Rasmus jump. It’s Martin, giving him a sympathetic look. “You hanging in there okay?”

 

Rasmus nods, but Martin notices the frustration in his eyes and grins. “Don’t worry, Marcin sucked his dick for a bit during Miky’s turn, so I’m sure Luka’ll be done in no time.”

 

Sure enough, Luka only manages a dozen or do thrusts before he’s gripping Tim’s hips and coming with a wail. Tim lists forward from the momentum as Luka collapses on top of him, nearly falling over before Marcin catches him.

 

“Are you trying to hurt our guest, you selfish _gówno_?” he grumbles at Luka as Tim leans gratefully against his naked chest.

Luka’s got a dopey, satisfied grin on his face as he rolls off of Tim and onto the floor. He’s obviously still too blissed out to care. Marcin rolls his eyes and mutters more curses in Polish.

 

Tim hangs onto Marcin a few moments longer, breathing deeply. His cheeks are dark crimson now, almost the same shade as his lips. Rasmus bites his own lips at the sight, hoping he’s still up for one more round.

 

Eventually Tim looks up at Rasmus, eyelashes fluttering. “How do you want me, Caps?” he asks simply, too tired to put on an act to appear especially sexy or appealing. Rasmus is still struck speechless by the question.

 

“I...uh...Rasmus is fine, actually,” he babbles. All the blood in his brain seems to have traveled south by now. “And uh...Whatever you’re up to, really.”

 

Tim blinks at him slowly for a while, before a small grin spreads across his face. “Got it.” Slowly, he gets to his knees, then lifts himself up into a standing position. He wobbles for a bit, giving Rasmus just enough time to see the marks all over his hips, his prominent erection, and Luka’s cum leaking out of his ass before they’re face to face.

 

“Take off your clothes, please,” Tim whispers, and Rasmus is helpless to do anything but comply. Mihael and Martin, true friends that they are, help him strip as quickly as possible and toss his sweatpants and jersey into the corner of the room.

 

Once Rasmus is naked, Tim steps closer. “Rasmus,” he whispers as his nose bumps into Rasmus’. “I always idolized you, you know.”

 

Rasmus turns pink at that, but before he can respond Tim leans in to nibble at his neck. His nimble hands find Rasmus’ hips, and they trace down his hipbones until he reaches Rasmus’ cock, which is achingly hard by now. The contact, which Rasmus has been craving for so long, makes him jump a little.

 

Tim lets out a small, soft sound against Rasmus’ throat, almost a giggle really, and takes Rasmus into his hand. He jerks Rasmus a few times, making his breath hitch, before taking his hand away. A whine of protest is barely bubbling up in Rasmus’ throat before Tim thrusts his hips and... _oh_.

 

Tim is pressing his erection against Rasmus’. He’s sliding his hot, thick cock right against Rasmus’, and it feels _amazing_.

 

“A-ah…” Rasmus’ voice comes out as nothing but a hoarse squeak. “T-Tim…”

 

“Shhhhh…” Is all Tim says as he moves his hips in small circles, creating a delicious sort of friction that Rasmus, for all his time on Fnatic and G2 combined, has never felt before. It feels like nirvana, like lazing around in bed on an off day, like stepping onto the stage and getting a pentakill, but it’s better than all those things.

 

Rasmus’ eyes roll back into his head as Tim takes them both into his hand, sliding their precome-slick cocks through the tight ring formed by his fingers. As he works his hand, Tim murmurs all sorts of things into Rasmus neck, compliments about his skill, how Tim used to watch his games with Fnatic and wish he was standing next to him on that stage, how privileged he felt to play against him even if it ended up with him losing.

 

Rasmus feels so good, but something in him still craves more. He desperately leans forward, craving more touching, more contact, and Tim meets him. Rasmus presses sloppy kisses against Tim’s face, his neck, his chest, and Tim gasps and whimpers and-

 

And Tim’s coming, Rasmus can feel his cock jerking against his own and his hot seed spreading down Rasmus’ cock, and it’s all too much. Rasmus clutches Tim to him, in a death grip of sorts, and he comes too.

 

Tim is boneless and wobbly in his arms, and Rasmus is feeling a little weak-kneed himself. Luckily, Marcin is there, keeping them upright as leads them over to the bench. Mihael brings them towels and water.

 

Rasmus flops onto the bench, takes a few gulps of water, and promptly passes out.

 

When he comes too, the sweat, saliva, and come have been cleaned off his body. His clothes are laid out neatly next to him, and Tim is standing before him, fully dressed again and looking halfway presentable again.

 

Rasmus quickly sits up.

 

“Hey,” Tim says with a small, soft smile. This time it’s innocent, nothing like the looks he’d pulled over the past hour or so. “I...had a good time with you all.”

 

“I’m glad!” Luka chirps, but Tim’s eyes are locked onto Rasmus’. Ramsus stares back at him owlishly.

 

“You remind me of him, you know?” Tim says, tilting his head to the side. There’s a bite mark on his neck, fresh and red, but beneath it, Rasmus can see the remnants of another bruise. Another bitemark.

 

Without another word, and before anyone can ask him what he meant, Tim leaves G2’s locker room. His footsteps echo as he makes his way down the hallway, back to his own team. Back to Fnatic.


End file.
